


The Botched Break-In

by doctordoctor



Category: Lemonverse
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Comedy, Conspiracy Theories, Gen, Home Invasion, Intellectual Sparring, Misinformation, Surveillance, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctordoctor/pseuds/doctordoctor
Summary: Across town, Sylvester sits alone at the counter of his candy shop. “I feel uncomfortable for some reason,” he mused. “As if my ex and my crush are talking to each other.”





	The Botched Break-In

**Author's Note:**

> From September 2016, for a request for Taylor and LAA to interact. Sylvester was still called Neil when this was written, so the joke at the end about the many Neils doesn't really land anymore, but I still left it in.

It was around 1 am on a Saturday night, and Neil was alone in his apartment, fiddling with his synths at his desk, indulging a muse that had kept him late into the night. It was dark in his apartment except for the lamp on his desk by his computer, which cast a warm glow over his work and created a comfortable, homey feeling. He felt this piece was coming along quite nicely, and he was glad his overseeing friend had left him alone for the night so he could work in peace.

He was just tapping out a countermelody when a strange noise from another room broke through his concentration. He wasn’t certain, but it sounded like a hard _thunk_ against a pane of glass followed by a hiss. He stopped playing, and sat perfectly still, silently watching and listening in the direction it came from.

There were no more noises for a good few seconds. Neil was about to shrug it off and assume he’d imagined it, but then he heard the clear and distinct sound of a drawer being opened, and then closed again, in the very next room.

Was he being robbed? Fear mounting, he looked around himself for anything he could use as a weapon. The only thing within grabbing distance was his treasured keytar, and he couldn’t stand the thought of breaking it open on some intruder’s undeserving skull. Nonetheless, he grabbed it off its spot on the wall quickly and quietly as he could, and wielded it warily from his spot in his desk chair.

He sat still, facing the way into the darkened next room, waiting on the next development. There were a few more noises as the seconds passed by - the rustling of his couch cushions, a cupboard opening and closing, the blinds tapping against a window somewhere out of view. Neil was wondering if he should try to make a grab for his cell to call the police when he caught the glint of something poking through the threshold - the flash from a large pair of glasses and the hint of a pale face, jerked back into the shadows in a split second with a quiet _“fuck.”_

He knew the intruder had seen him now, so he stood up and yelled out in as threatening a voice he could manage, “Hey! I see you in there! I’m calling the police and if you’ve taken anything, I swear to god, I’ll, I’ll - you’ll be prosecuted! I’ll find you!” He took some steps forward, brandishing his keytar as if it were a baseball bat. “I have a heavy blunt object, and I’m not afraid to use it!” He knew as he said the words they were a terrible lie; he wouldn’t be able to swing this at anyone with nearly enough force to do any damage to _it,_ much less the other person. But its weight in his hands was enough to lend him some courage, and he stepped into the darkness of the other room, flicking on the light switch by the doorway. “You better come out right now and give me back my stuff or - _hey!”_

Revealed in the light was a small man in an all-black getup and a light knapsack, standing on an armchair and straining ineffectually towards the skylight above him. When the light came on, he squeaked loudly and fell to the floor in surprise, quickly crawling behind the armchair and out of Neil’s view.

Emboldened, Neil stomped across the room and rounded the armchair to see the intruder cowering on the floor. He picked him up by the scruff of his neck. It was evident he had at least 10 inches on the guy. Probably closer to 15.

“HEY!” the man was shouting and struggling against Neil’s grasp. “Stop! You can’t - this is - stop! Unhand me, you - you - you undead fiend!” Neil dodged a swipe of the man’s arms. “You soulless corpse! You can’t stop me now, I - I’ve already gathered the evidence! And I’ve left it with the right people! Or - NO! I - I’ve told them to open the envelopes if I don’t come back by tomorrow morning!”

Neil was perplexed. He knew the man - he worked as a spare pair of hands at Sylvester's candy shop. He remembered that he always gave him nasty looks when he dropped by, _especially_ during the brief fling he had with the shop owner. Sylvester had insisted that he was really a sweet guy when he commented on it, but Neil just shrugged, and it devolved into a conversation about all his good traits that ended up running rather long. And now here he was breaking into his apartment.

The man’s struggling motions seemed to have run their course, and now he was simply looking up at Neil with an angry pout on his face. Neil gently carried him back to his desk area in the other room, carefully set his keytar back in its place, and then warily set him on the ground, removing his hands slowly to make sure he didn’t bolt. He was looking skittish again now that he was free.

Neil snapped his fingers in his face. “Hey.”

The man looked offended, but no longer interested in escape.

“Give me your bag.”

He pouted again, but then bowed his head and shrugged it off his shoulders and handed it to Neil, crossing his arms. Apparently he had accepted defeat.

Neil opened it and peered inside. To his surprise, none of the contents were his. He pulled out a tangle of wires attached to some rough, homemade hardware and squinted at it. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought he recognized a few key features - ones with which he’d become all too familiar. “You were trying to bug my place?”

He turned his chin up angrily. “You’re already bugged in all the good places!” he said, tone a high pitched whine. “Multiple bugs! What the hell is that!” He spread his arms out in frustration. “I come here to try and get some questions _answered,_ and I only stumble on _more?_ Who the hell are you with? Why do they need like 20 bugs?”

Neil sighed. “Industry Records,” he chuckled dryly.

“Oh would you cut the crap, _please?_ I _know_ what you are, okay? Just admit it!”

Neil was no longer chuckling. “Listen, y… what was your name again? T.. Turner? Timmy?”

“ _It’s T-_ I mean - I’m not telling you anything!”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gonna save you at this point?” He raised a finger to point at the ceiling camera that had been trained on them both the whole time.

Neil knew there was no one behind it at that moment, but Taylor didn’t, and a look of horror and disappointment settled over his face. He in turn gestured at it with upturned palms, mouthing _“why?”_.

Neil pawed through the rest of the bag’s contents, finding even more unnerving tools beneath the surveillance equipment. “Medical supplies…?” he prompted with a concerned expression on his face.

“It was for - ” Taylor began in the same frustrated tone, but then cut himself off and continued in a quieter, less self-righteous voice, “… DNA samples.”

“What… kind of…”

“Whatever I could get. Blood, ideally. That is, if you even _bleed.”_ He crossed his arms again and kicked the carpet, looking very much like a child being forced to apologize for something he didn’t feel sorry about.

This was quite distressing. “How were you going to…” Neil closed his eyes, and dragged a hand down his face. He set Taylor’s bag down on his chair. “Listen, uh, T, guy…” He paused, looking down at Taylor, and it occurred to him that he really didn’t know what he wanted out of this interaction.

He could feel his focus going, and he shook himself lightly, trying to think. It appeared that Taylor caught this brief lapse, as the look on his face changed to be a little smug.

Some respect would be nice, Neil finally concluded. He continued in a somewhat exhausted tone, “I’m a _person._ I’m not just some game, or some mystery to be solved, okay? If you want… _‘answers’_ ,” he used a gentle air quote, “… you can just ask me.”

There was a beat of silence. Taylor stared at him blankly. “Oh really.”

“Yes.”

“Well alright, okay then, alright, alright,” Taylor leaned back on his heels consideringly, pushing his glasses up his nose and cocking an eyebrow, then leaned forward again. “What happened to you on August 4, 2015?”

Neil blinked. “I… don’t remember, exactly.” It wasn’t untrue. And it didn’t sound too suspicious, either. Or so he hoped.

Taylor squinted at him, frowning. “Okay. How about that September? Can you remember anything you did that month?”

Neil fought hard not to freeze up at the direction this line of questioning was taking. “Uhhhhh. I kind of went underground for a while…” He resisted visibly cringing, no matter how strongly he was doing it inside. “I had some, er, personal… issues… to work out.”

“Personal issues, huh?” _Like being dead?_ T’s face seemed to shout.

“Yeah I, well, I was feeling kind of, uh, dried up - I mean, um, I was sort of in a box - I mean - ” oh my god, _stop_ \- “I was… I was in a dark place…” he trailed off weakly. “I’d rather not go into it, honestly,” he grimaced. “It was a pretty… grave time.”

Taylor nodded, but the look in his eyes was the opposite of satisfied. “Alright. Okay. In that case, would you mind telling me what you see in this photo?” Taylor quite dramatically produced a smart phone from a back pocket and opened up a photo, then held it out for Neil to see.

Neil leaned in close to the screen in Taylor’s hand. “Uh, it looks like a picture of you and, I guess, a friend of yours?” It was a picture of Taylor smiling for the camera along with a vaguely familiar taller man with bleached hair, both standing in front of a cafe window somewhere in the city. Taylor appeared to be blinking in the photo.

“Not that part!” Taylor quickly manipulated the phone screen to zoom in on a flyer posted in the cafe window, half obscured by the other man’s shoulder. It appeared to contain a photo of Neil’s face - his old, rosy, unblemished face - and text at the top, which was very blurry, but he could just make out the word “memorial.”

Neil was going to have to play it as cool as possible. “What, the… light reflection in the window? What is that, a weather balloon?”

T bristled. “The _flyer,”_ he clarified, through gritted teeth.

“Oh. I don’t know, I don’t recognize it.”

Taylor pulled his phone away frustratedly. “Oh come on!” he huffed with indignation.

It was dawning on Neil that Taylor would never be satisfied with a normal explanation. He wanted a conspiracy to be in on - Neil just had to make sure it wasn’t the _right_ conspiracy. Quickly, he put on a great face of surrender. “Listen… I would really like to help you out…” he began, putting an air of carefulness into his words. “You see, I have a… little, red, blinking friend, who really doesn’t like to hear me tell stories.”

He had Taylor’s full attention now. “I… see.”

“But I will say that, your story has some things right, and some things wrong. Are you open to… constructive criticism?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay. Let’s work a hypothetical here. Your protagonist - or, I guess, your antagonist - is… Michael Jackson. First of all, make your antagonist your protagonist.”

Taylor narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Okay.” He was clearly following along for all he was worth.

“Now, your villain is going to be… Katy Perry.”

“Katy Perry?”

“Katy Perry,” Neil nodded with grave seriousness.

Taylor’s eyes widened and he gasped. _“Of course,”_ he whispered, his eyes flicking rapidly in many directions, following a train of thought only he could comprehend.

“And… she’s putting Michael Jackson on a rocket ship… to Vietnam,” he said dramatically. Staring solemnly into Taylor’s eyes, he touched a finger to his nose, then made a strange finger gesture. “Now. Has your protagonist died?”

“No… he… _oh!”_ Taylor jumped up, a smile springing onto his face. “Thank you… I understand now.”

“Glad I could help,” Neil said in a cool tone. “Hey, you’re not recording any of this, are you?”

“Wh-w- _what?_ Ha ha, no, of course not!” Taylor shifted nervously and fiddled with his shirt collar, too-wide grin on his face.

“Good. Good,” Neil said, straightening. _I have woven a web of lies,_ he thought to himself, smiling faintly. His industrious friend will be so proud.

“Hey, you know, uh,” Taylor interjected, still smiling. “I noticed you have a lot of… _tech_ around here. Like, in your drawers, and your window frames, and your, uh, ceiling.” He failed to resist a tiny glance at the camera. “If you ever have any _problems_ with it, you know… I’m pretty good with electronics.” He grinned.

“Oh. Oh yeah,” Neil responded. Now that _was_ something to think about… Maybe he could get to like this guy after all, wildly paranoid theories and all. “I appreciate the offer, thank you.”

“One last question, if you don’t mind,” Taylor’s demeanor had become far more polite now, Neil noticed. “This is kind of weird, but I just couldn’t understand… Why the hell did you friend me on Snapchat?”

Neil blinked. He couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

“It seems a bit silly now, but I puzzled over it for hours! I thought you were taunting me.”

Neil raised his eyebrows. “Uh, nothing like that,” he laughed. “I was just… thinking, a while ago, that my friends are pretty… er, strange people. I’m in the market for new ones. That’s all. I was just trying to make a friend who was more… _normal.”_ The word tasted like death on his tongue. More than his words usually do.

“Really? That was it?”

“Yep.” He smiled awkwardly.

Taylor laughed. “Wow, okay. I guess I have a folder to shred then.” They both laughed awkwardly for a bit, then fell into silence. “Um, okay, I should leave.”

“Yeah, please never do this again,” Neil confirmed.

Taylor picked up his bag and headed for the exit door. Neil forced himself not to fret about the fact that he seemed to already know exactly where it was. With his hand on the doorknob, Taylor stopped and looked back at Neil one more time. “Hey…”

Neil looked up at him questioningly.

His expression was a little hesitant, but he raised one finger to point at Neil in a half stern fashion. “Stay away from Neil.”

Neil furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, which one?”

T narrowed his eyes. “ _My_ Neil,” he said darkly. With that, he was out the door, hurrying quietly down the hallway.

Neil still didn’t know which one that was.


End file.
